


and everything i ever did was just another way to scream your name

by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, implied/referenced size kink, jaskier is a people pleaser, jaskier is also bad at communicating, theyre both pure of heart and dumb of ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes/pseuds/theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes
Summary: The damn Witcher, with his eyes and hands and arms. Jaskier has a type, and his type is sleeping three feet from him every night, and he could leave if he wanted to but he’s always been a bit of a masochist. More than a bit, if he’s being honest.It’s no coincidence, then, when he seeks out the rougher side of things more often. Waits for them to come to him, because he knows it’s dangerous- doesn’t say a word to Geralt, just in case. Not everyone is tolerant, and Geralt is a good man beneath everything but. But. It seems foolish to risk the friendship he’s built just for that. He talks at length about the women he beds and doesn’t breathe a word about the men. He’s not ashamed of being the way he is, just… careful.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 146
Kudos: 1677
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, oh YES





	and everything i ever did was just another way to scream your name

**Author's Note:**

> title from south london forever by florence + the machine and for once i think the title kind of fits???

Jaskier has always had an eye for anyone pretty. 

Men, women, people in between- there is always some feature that makes someone beautiful. A nose, eyes, lips, hair. Fine boned hands or broad, rough palms. The curve of a back, of a neck, of a smile. He is an eager, enthusiastic lover, because he loves people so much and he loves to  _ please _ people. 

The women he takes to bed are usually delicate. Soft curves, smooth hands, dresses that pool and puddle. Pretty creatures that make pretty noises, who like him because he’s a little pretty too. It’s a mutual sort of enjoyment they have- he eats them like a meal, likes the feeling of slender fingers clutching in his hair. He indulges this often. Other women, too- he’s not exactly picky. Women in trousers, women with a hard set to their face, their jaws, their eyes. Women, just, in general. 

The men, though- he has a  _ type _ . 

Big men. Rough stubble, arms the size of his thighs. Men with sharp smiles, sharp eyes- men who could pick him up, toss him around. Men like  _ that _ . They’re rarer than women- not everywhere is tolerant of that, and he already has to be careful, a bard who dresses in pretty silks. But when he can- 

Well, when he  _ can _ . 

And usually it’s just the women. He doesn’t really play it safe- he sleeps with wives and daughters and sisters- but it’s not precisely forbidden. But then he meets Geralt of godsdamned Rivia, and his whole system is fucked. 

The damn Witcher, with his eyes and hands and arms. Jaskier has a type, and his type is sleeping three feet from him every night, and he could leave if he wanted to but he’s always been a bit of a masochist. More than a bit, if he’s being honest. 

It’s no coincidence, then, when he seeks out the rougher side of things more often. Waits for them to come to him, because he knows it’s dangerous- doesn’t say a word to Geralt, just in case. Not everyone is tolerant, and Geralt is a good man beneath everything but.  _ But _ . It seems foolish to risk the friendship he’s built just for that. He talks at length about the women he beds and doesn’t breathe a word about the men. He’s not ashamed of being the way he is, just… careful.

Careful. He likes him so damn much it aches in his chest, sometimes. Only a fool falls for a Witcher, but Jaskier has never counted himself among the great minds. 

So. Quick, secret fucks with men who could crush him. It adds to it, somehow- the illicit element, the vague shame. 

They’ve stopped for the night in a city. No contract, but Jaskier’s sure Geralt will find one; for now he plays, bright happy songs to cheer the townsfolk. He gets  _ looks- _ a good bard always gets looks- from several women, pretty. A man, more of Jaskier’s build. And then, not quite tucked away in the corner like Geralt always is but still in the shadows enough to be interesting, is a- well, Jaskier would wager at a blacksmith, with the muscles and the stubble. 

Geralt’s already gone out somewhere, so Jaskier sends him a look from under his eyelashes and there, yes, he’s approaching. Oh, he is  _ big _ , and handsome too- they chat a moment, hardly concealed innuendos, before slipping out into an alleyway. He’s perfectly content just slide to his knees and suck his cock right there, but the man pushes him into the wall and who is he to deny the press of that eager mouth? It’s quiet here, but for their hushed noises- Jaskier’s had a bit to drink, and he can taste ale on the blacksmith’s tongue as it pushes into his mouth. He laughs with it, laughs again when he feels a massive hand curl around his waist. 

It’s good. It’s  _ good _ , that strength he can feel pressing bruises into his hipbones, the bite of his kiss, the rough scratch of his stubble. It’s good, and he’s moaning with it, just soft in the back of his throat kind of moans, and then he looks over the blacksmith’s shoulder and. 

Geralt’s there. He’s staring- it’d be almost funny in any other circumstance, the way it looks like he’s frozen in shock and disbelief and a little concern. There’s else in his face, something Jaskier can’t quite make out, but before he can do anything but blink Geralt’s gone again. 

The blacksmith’s moved down to biting at his neck, but Jaskier’s not in the mood anymore. He pushes him off, and when the man growls he gives him a glare and he backs off. He feels guilty, somehow- guilty and a little foolish, like he’d been caught stealing candy. When he goes back to their room he goes with his tail practically tucked between his legs, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. 

Geralt is a good man beneath everything, but. That look on his face- half a second of twisted up  _ something _ . Jaskier can’t get it out of his head. He doesn’t bring it up the next day, and neither does the Witcher. 

-

And so they continue. Jaskier’s embarrassment turns gradually to indignation, directed mostly at himself- why should he care what Geralt thinks?- and so he seeks out pretty, muscular strangers nearly every night. He’s not particularly careful about it, and so the Witcher walks in more than once, and it’s a hot stab of embarrassment every fucking time even though he practically invites it. He’s half wild with it, pushing for bruises and bites and aches come morning, and still it’s a jolt of unhappy shock every time he sees the look on Geralt’s face. 

There’s a downward, unhappy curl to his mouth half the time, and the way he lifts his head and scents at the air is almost deliberate. A reminder to Jaskier that he’s got his damn mutant nose, and he can smell pretty much exactly what he’s done, and it makes Jaskier flush hot with embarrassment and anger and-

He doesn’t want Geralt to think he’s disgusting, is the thing. He doesn’t. Geralt is his friend, a good man despite what he apparently believes, and his silent pushing is just that. Silent. 

They don’t talk about it. Jaskier keeps his mouth firmly shut, chatters on about other things like nothing’s wrong, and Geralt fucking broods. God, it’s Jaskier’s fucking sex life that’s making everything so awkward, and that’s- well, that sucks. He’s not used to that uncomfortable pit in his belly so he pushes through it with more sex which- predicatably- makes it worse. 

So Jaskier just says fuck it, and continues on. 

-

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with a Witcher. 

Granted, he falls in love with almost everyone he meets, but- it’s usually quick and fleeting, blown out quickly. A candle in a storm. 

Geralt, though. Jaskier loves him because he’s beautiful and then he loves him because, underneath everything, he’s kind. Brave, goodhearted, awkward. A wicked sense of humor when you know how to tease it out of him, and Jaskier has dedicated a lot of time to learning. 

He’s a good man. Jaskier had felt stricken to his core the first time he’d seen it, and he still feels that familiar sparking ache when he sees his Witcher- not  _ his _ Witcher, never his- let his heavy armour crack enough for that goodness to show through. 

It’s what makes this particular dismissal so painful. Geralt has never shown any signs of being against two men or two women coupling- granted, he doesn’t generally care a lot about what people do unless they’re hurting someone- and to see that look in his eyes just when it’s Jaskier is a sharp bolt of pain and hurt. He had thought- no, he  _ knows- _ that Geralt cares for him as a friend, and it’s Jaskier’s damn secret that he loves him and it still aches at him. Unrequited love is all well and good for songs, but the reality hurts. 

-

A line must be drawn. Their line is this: 

Jaskier returns to their shared room in the morning. There are bite-mark bruises on his neck, collarbones, shoulders- more circle his wrists, purple. Sometimes the men he seeks can be almost cruel, and he welcomes it. 

Their line is this: Jaskier walks into the room and he smells of sex and blood. Geralt is awake, and his golden eyes are flat and unhappy when he looks at his bard. 

“You need to stop this,” he rumbles out, voice low and forbidding. Jaskier tenses, readies himself to finally have this fight.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” he says, faux sweetness in his voice. This pent up aggression has made him angry- Geralt’s silent judging has made him angry. Underneath it all is a bruise he will not acknowledge. 

“It’s my business when you return smelling of-” teeth bared in a grimace. “Jaskier, you’re bleeding.” 

“It’s not your  _ business _ ,” Jaskier repeats- snaps it out, a whip-crack. “Melitele’s sake, Witcher, I wouldn’t’ve thought you-” 

A flash of hurt, molten in those gold eyes. “That I what,” Geralt growls. His voice is low, deep, angry. “That I care about-” 

“Care about what?” he interrupts, nearly hysterical. “Care about  _ what _ , Geralt, because it really seems as if you’re sticking your godsdamned nose into something that doesn’t concern you-” 

Geralt makes a noise in the far back of his throat. There’s something crackling in the air between them, hot and angry and sharp. “It is my business- you’re not happy, Jaskier, you smell-” 

Jaskier laughs. It’s not the sanest laugh he’s ever given but he feels balanced on a fucking edge. “I smell like what? What do I smell like, Witcher?” 

“You smell upset,” Geralt grits out. “You smell- you don’t smell happy, you smell tense, I can see it, too. You’re not-” he pauses, blinks like he’d expected to get interrupted. Jaskier had expected to interrupt him, too, but he’s half speechless. 

“I smell tense?” he repeats, eyebrows nearly in his hairline. The Witcher winces, nods. His hands are clenched fists at his sides. 

“You haven’t been yourself for months.” 

There is a long silence while Jaskier tries and fails to understand. “Why do you look at me so strangely when I’m with-” he cuts himself short, can’t quite bring himself to say it. Geralt looks puzzled by the change of topics. 

“When you’re with what?” 

“Men,” he grits out. “When you saw me with the blacksmith, your face-” 

He can see Geralt go tense, but there’s still confusion carefully hidden in his eyes. “I don’t-” 

“I didn’t think you’d care,” he continues, steamrolling over him. “I didn’t think you’d care about things like that, men liking other men, I-  _ what _ ?” 

Geralt makes a harsh noise that he realizes, slowly, is a laugh. Jaskier bristles, angry, but the Witcher shakes his head. “It’s not- Jaskier. It’s not that it was a man.” 

All the wind goes from his sails. He blinks at Geralt for a long moment, utterly poleaxed. “It’s not?” 

He looks like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, or possibly as though he’s constipated. It’s a very familiar expression on him, but Jaskier can’t quite appreciate it through his whirling mind. “No, it’s- hm,” Geralt grunts, seemingly as a placeholder. “I don’t- it’s not that it was a man,” he repeats. “It’s that it wasn’t, ah-” 

Unless he’s hallucinating, there’s the faintest hint of a blush on those cheeks. Jaskier stares. There’s a long, awkward silence in the room, and Geralt clears his throat when he sees Jaskier isn’t intending to break it. 

“It’s that it wasn’t me,” he finishes, a little painfully. 

“I’m in love with you,” Jaskier blurts stupidly, before he can think about it. More painful silence. Jaskier doesn’t have Witcher senses but he could swear he hears both their heartbeats anyway, thundering. “I mean, uh-” 

“Hm,” says Geralt. He looks as startled as Jaskier has ever seen him. “You-” 

“Me,” he agrees, pitifully. 

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Geralt says, with much the same desperate, confessional air. They blink at each other. Jaskier crosses to his bed, sits heavily, and puts his face in his hands. 

“Holy fuck,” he says, with feeling. “We’re a mess.” 

Geralt rubs a hand over his face- his gold eyes are wide, and Jaskier can feel them burning into him. “So you-” 

“I thought you hated me because I slept with men,” says Jaskier.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you slept with other men,” admits Geralt, with the air of someone having their teeth pulled. Jaskier laughs, half hysterical, lets his shoulders drop. 

“I slept with other men because I want you,” he tells him, because apparently this is honesty hour. Might as well get it all out. Geralt makes that cut off laugh again. 

“Fuck,” he says, putting all of his usual unsaid words into it. It’s so familiar it aches at Jaskier- he can feel cautious hope bright in his belly. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, again, in case Geralt missed it the first time round. 

Geralt, always a man of action, grabs him by the wrist and reels him in for a kiss. 

-

“So we’re idiots,” says Jaskier, several hours later. He is curled up on top of his Witcher, sleepily, and Geralt is making himself busy apparently with covering him in his own scent. Possessive bastard. Jaskier is so happy he could burst. 

“Hm,” Geralt agrees, pressing a kiss right to the pulse point of Jaskier’s neck. He hums, soft and pleased. He hadn’t meant to fall in love with a Witcher- Geralt, though. 

He curls in closer, closes his eyes, and goes to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO. the prompt for this was literally INCREDIBLE and came in fourteen parts in my inbox from an ANON so here's my favorite part that i didnt get to include bc it's jask's pov: "like, it also makes Geralt tender hearted that jaskier thinks Geralt would ever judge him for that, and bc he already lets jaskier get away with SO MUCH that breaks the rules Geralt has for himself &, really, jaskier is honestly harmless, this is harmless. And its dumb that jaskier is shy about it but like—he wears shyness so prettily (and gods, THAT’S novel?? jaskier, timid about anything??) but also it HURTS, TOO because he doesn’t want jaskier to feel bad, at all, ever. Especially over 7/14" i literally LOVE THIS PART so much. this is so cute. i think i might do geralt pov just so i can write this 
> 
> anyways i literally just fleshed it out a little but ALL credit goes to anon you are INCREDIBLE and i love you so much. why cant they communicate. 
> 
> writing the fight out was so fun because they both were having totally different conversations and they both were so INDIGNANT about it. and then they both realize at the same time and are like :0
> 
> if you liked this please send me an ask or a prompt over at redjewelsforeyes.tumblr.com!!
> 
> ALSO if u liked this please leave a comment i will water your crops, tenderly, waking in the early morning sunlight so i can get to them before you even stir from bed. you feel the damp earth and smile


End file.
